by Tessa Layne
Her eyes went wide, face stricken. “I don’t think it was destiny that my mother died,” she whispered after a very long moment. “But I do think you were destined to come to Prairie, and I’ll never believe differently,” she vowed fiercely.
“That makes no sense. Either you believe in destiny, or you don’t. You can’t believe that some things are destiny and others aren’t.” He yanked his shirt off the side table and pulled it over his head. “It doesn’t work that way.”
“Why not?” She crossed her arms defiantly, jaw set.
“Because it doesn’t.” He crossed his, too, angry gaze tangling with hers. Ahh, hell. She was ready to cry. He scrubbed a hand over his jaw. “Shit, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have snapped. Destiny has been a real bitch to me, so talk about bad things being destiny, or God’s will, just sets me off.” He paced the length of the room. He wasn’t explaining himself well at all. “I’m not mad at you. Sometimes I still get mad about my life. I should have kept my cool. But, you have to accept that not everyone sees the world like you do, Millie.”
“I thought you did.”
He shook his head, regret filling him. “Not in a million years. But don’t think for a second it means I don’t love or respect you.” He stepped back, raking a hand over his head. “Look, I’m going to go check the grapes, cool off a bit. Join me whenever you like.”
He turned and stomped down the stairs. That could have gone better. It stunned him to learn that even after losing her mother to cancer, she still believed in something as foolish as destiny. Grumbling the whole way, he stalked to the crushing pad, still carrying on their conversation in his head. The woman was an infuriating set of contradictions. And he was crazy about her.
When he arrived, he went straight to the must. The grapes had been on the skins just over eight hours, enough to make a pale, salmon-pink rosé. He hauled the four bins over to the press and loaded in the fruit. By midnight, or sometime after, the juice would be pressed, he’d let the juice settle overnight and then tomorrow, they could pitch the yeast and begin fermenting.
Footsteps sounded behind him, and a brief moment later, Millie’s arms wrapped around him from the back. “How does everything look?” She rested her head in the middle of his back.
He turned, planting a kiss on her forehead. “We are going to make great wine.”
She perked up. “We? Not me? That’s the first time you’ve said we.”
“Yes, we.” He pulled her close, tucking her under his chin. “I’m sorry I was an ass. Be patient with me? Navigating this, what’s between us. It’s like learning to walk all over again.”
“But this time with your heart.”
He nodded, throat squeezing tight. “This time with my heart.”
* * *
“No. No, no, no.” Millie shook her head vigorously. “You can’t do that. It’s cheating.”
Jason snorted. “No, it’s not. It’s what every good winemaker does to get consistent, predictable results.
“But Pét-Nat is called Méthode Ancestrale for a reason. There was no pitching the yeast in seventeenth-century France.
“But you do understand that wild fermentation not only takes longer, but it’s unpredictable. Those bottles you didn’t like from last year’s harvest? Why do you think that is? Wild yeast introduces funk, and sometimes – like in some of your bottles, the ferment stalled.”
“But I like funk,” she countered, voice rising.
“But the average drinker doesn’t. C’mon. Even you didn’t like some of your bottles. The key to great wine is consistent, predictable, measurable action.”
“The key to great wine is imagination. Daring. Instinct.”
“It’s that, too, but use that in your blending, in how long your grapes sit on the skins. Not in fermenting.”
She narrowed her eyes, pink staining her cheeks. “I disagree completely.”
“Well, I do, too,” he shot back. “I thought you said you wanted to put Prairie on the map for good wine.”
“I do–”
“Then you have to take it seriously, hon. You can’t half-ass it, or treat it like a hobby.” That was harsh criticism, but maybe it would be enough to get through to her.
“But I put my heart and soul into this wine.” She waved at the bins. “This is me.”
Jason raised an eyebrow.
“Well, it is.” Her lower lip protruded. “You think we should pitch the yeast, huh?”
He nodded.
“But I want the wine to taste wild, to be an expression of… of, here.” She gesticulated wildly. “I want it to capture people’s imagination.” She leveled her gaze at him, challenge in her eyes. “I want magic in a bottle.”
Jason dropped his head back, laughing until his sides hurt. He bridged the distance, pulling her close, and dropping a kiss on her temple. “Darlin’… you’re magic in a bottle.” He laughed again. “Look, much of what you’re after, you can achieve with marketing. With a creative label. The wine is going to be an expression of here because it grew here. If you grow the same grapes in California, it’s going to taste different. Concentrate on making the best wine you can, and everything else will happen.”
“Are you sure?”
Jason eyed the vats. “I asked you once before if you trusted me, and you said you did. Do you still trust me?”
She hesitated, then nodded once.
“Just this once, do it my way? If the result is bad, we can go back to wild fermentation next year.”
“Will you be here in a year?”
His chest burned like he’d swallowed a coal. So much could happen in a year. A year ago, Johnny was still alive. A year ago he was going through the motions of overseeing the operations of the Case Family Wineries, attending charity fundraisers at the behest of his step-mother, pretending to care.
He couldn’t think of any place he’d rather be in a year’s time, than right here, bedding Millie and consulting on a small mom and pop winery, where every aspect of winemaking was personal, thoughtful. Or helping with the ins and outs of Resolution Ranch, mentoring veterans in transition, herding cattle, mending fences.
“If you’ll have me.”
A slow smile spread across her face, crinkling her eyes. “Pitch the yeast.”
CHAPTER 19
March
Millie paced the length of the suite, anxiety rising with each step. Why had she agreed to enter the wine in a competition? She hated competitions. They brought out the worst in people. So why?
Because you wanted to prove yourself, the voice in her head answered. You wanted people to see you as more than a flaky, New Age hippie. But this wasn’t her. Looking in the mirror, she didn’t even recognize herself. Emmaline Andersson had whipped up a gorgeous, filmy, light-blue cocktail dress for her. The kind of thing she’d never wear in Prairie.
Jason came out of the bathroom, white shirt still unbuttoned, tie hanging loosely around his neck. “You look beautiful.” His eyes lit as he slowly dropped his gaze down her body, setting off a cascade of tingles. Not even a touch, and she was a quivering mass of hormones.
She came to him, and he pulled her in, kissing her lightly. “I look forward to peeling this off you later tonight.”
“Are you sure we’re doing the right thing?”
He cupped her face, peppering her with little kisses. “What’s got you so nervous, sweetheart? We made a great wine.”
“Did we? Did we really? And this?” She waved around the room. “This isn’t me. I go barefoot or wear cowboy boots. I own one pair of sneakers for tree-climbing. And I think underwear is restrictive.”
His chest rumbled with laughter. “I agree with you on the last one. It just gets in the way.” He squeezed her ass for emphasis, then raised an eyebrow. “Panties?”
She nodded, cheeks flushing.
“I can’t wait to see these later.”
“Can’t we just skip to that now?” She drew a finger down his sternum tracing a line to below his belly-button, hooking a
finger into the waistline of his pants.
“Sterling and Emma will be here any minute with the marketing materials.”
A bubble of anxiety pressed against her ribs. “We’re really doing this, aren’t we?”
“Emma’s materials make Moonbeam Acres shine. You have nothing to be ashamed of.”
“But you know what people say about Kansas wine.”
“Lucky for you this is a blind taste test. And don’t forget, most wines here will go home empty-handed. But you won’t.”
“Why is that?”
“Sterling told me this morning that he and Emma were so impressed with the wine, they want it to be the only wine served at their wedding next month. And, they want to send each guest home with a bottle.”
“What? No. Way.”
Jason nodded. “Sterling’s got friends all over the country who are flying in for this, so no matter what happens tonight, your wine will put Prairie on the map, thanks to Emma and Sterling.”
She didn’t care if she messed up her dress, her makeup, or his shirt, she jumped into his arms with a squeal. “Really? ReallyReallyReally?” She kissed him with everything she had.
He gave her a goofy grin when they broke apart. “You’ve already won in my eyes, sweetheart.”
“We’ve already won. This wine is as much yours as it is mine. Maybe more.”
Jason’s eyes softened. “I’m happy to give you all the credit.” He jammed a hand into his pocket. “And I have something for you to mark the occasion. Shut your eyes.”
She complied and his hand wrapped around her. Something cool pressed into her palm. When she opened them, a beautiful star sapphire pendant on a delicate chain winked up at her. “Jason, this is beautiful.”
“You said you wanted to bottle magic, and I think you came pretty damned close. I saw it in the jewelry store down the street, and it made me think of you, and the way your eyes sparkle like stars when you’re excited.”
Her limbs turned to jelly at his declaration. “I don’t know what to say. I love it.” She cupped his cheek, heart filling to the point it ached. “I love you.”
“How about, “Jason, help me put this on?”” He winked, taking the necklace, and brushing his fingers along the nape of her neck, secured the clasp. He pressed a slow, sensuous kiss to her neck, sending shivers racing to her clit, puckering her nipples. She leaned into him, and he kissed her neck again, hands coming to her waist, thumbs caressing lightly. She bent her head forward, giving him more access to her neck. His tongue flicked over her skin, to the sensitive hollow under her ear. “The things you do to me, Millie,” he whispered, hands rising to cup her breasts, capturing an already aching peak between thumb and forefinger.
She cried out softly from the exquisiteness of the sensations.
“Tonight,” he whispered, “I’m going to take you from behind while you stand in front of the mirror and watch yourself come.” He pressed the fullness of his erection into her backside, making it loud and clear she wasn’t the only one totally aroused.
Oh mercy, help her. A rush of hot heat pooled in her panties. “I’m okay with right now,” she encouraged breathlessly, grinding her hips back, loving the hardness of him.
A knock sounded at the door.
Jason cursed and stepped away. “Sorry, sweetheart,” he said tightly, voice still laced with desire. “I’d have taken you up on that.”
The knock sounded again.
“Coming,” Jason called out, buttoning his shirt. “Can you get the door?”
Millie hurried to the door, smoothing out her dress, happy to give Jason a moment to get the tent in his slacks under control. She opened the door to the smiling faces of Sterling, Emma, Macey – Johnny’s widow whom Millie had met several times over the last six months, and most importantly, her father, who was wearing a suit of all things.
“Surprise!” Emma vibrated with excitement. “I thought you could use a little moral support tonight.”
Millie had to blink back the prickles that suddenly seemed to be bothering her eyes. “Daddy.” She launched herself into his arms. “I’m so surprised. So happy.” She pulled back, giving him a hard look. “And you shaved, too. You look good.”
“I’d never miss my baby’s big debut,” he said gruffly, voice thick. “Even if I have to wear a monkey suit.”
“Where’s Sophie?” Millie asked Macey after giving her a hug.
“Staying with my mom.” Her face tightened briefly. “My first solo outing.”
Millie’s eyes prickled again, and she gave the woman another hug. “I know it hurts,” she murmured quietly so no one else could hear. “But I promise you’ll come to be okay, and we’re all here for you.”
Macey returned her hug and stepped back, eyes glimmering with unshed tears.
Jason joined them at the door, shirt and tie in place “Glad to see you all made it. Shall we go pour some wine?”
Millie stared at him. “Wait, you knew about this?” She gestured to the group.
Jason raised his eyebrows, shooting her a grin. “I thought we should celebrate together. Shall we do this?” He offered his arm.
By the time they reached the ballroom on the second floor, Millie’s jitters had subsided. No matter what happened in there, the people who mattered loved their wine.
Jason’s hand landed at the small of her back, a silent gesture of encouragement. He leaned in close. “The judges are in another room doing the blind tasting, you won’t see them until the end. All this inside, is just for publicity, buzz. Do what you do best, which is share your passion.”
She nodded, then stopped short, jaw going slack. “This is amazing. How did you do this, Em?” The booth looked like a trade show booth, with a flat-screen TV flashing through pictures of her grapes, of their harvest. A picture of her laughing. Some pictures had been blown up and were hung gallery-style along the screen that separated their area from the next winemaker. In the center were hi-top tables, so people could mingle as they tasted. Millie had never seen Moonbeam Acres look so beautiful, so inviting. A pang tore through her heart. If only her mother could have seen this.
“This is what I do best – make people shine.” Emma beamed. “It was an honor to put together all the materials.”
“Remember, everyone, small pours,” Jason cautioned. “The attendees are given a tasting glass when they enter. There are over thirty wines here tonight. We don’t want anyone getting loopy.”
“This part of the tasting is all about publicity,” Emma reminded the group. “Everyone loves a good story. Tell the tasters why you’re here, why you’ve connected with the wine. We only made fifty cases, and twenty-five are already spoken for with our upcoming wedding.” Emma gave Sterling a look of pure love.
For a split-second, envy sliced through Millie. It’s not about being married, she reminded herself sternly. It’s about sharing a string of moments with someone you love. But that didn’t feel like enough anymore. She and Jason had been together nearly a year, and talk of marriage hadn’t come up even once. He’d committed to staying, but that was it. And she wasn’t the kind to give him a marry me or walk ultimatum. She pushed the green monster thoughts away. Her path was different. Their path was different.
“What in the hell are you doing here?” A gravelly voice cut through her silent pity party. Startled, she turned toward the voice. But the man was scowling at Jason.
Jason wore an equally grim expression. “I could say the same of you.” He stood eye to eye with the man and his companion, a tall, stick insect of a woman, dark hair coiffed and dripping with diamonds.
“Jason?” Millie rushed over. “Is everything okay?” She ignored the look of disdain the woman leveled at her.
“Everything’s fine,” he gritted.
The man let out a harsh laugh. “You haven’t told her, have you?” He shook his head. “Wait until mom and dad hear about this.”
Warning bells sounded in her head, every protective instinct where Jason was concerned, going on high al
ert. She placed a hand on his arm. “What is it, Jase? What’s going on.”
His eyes were dark with misery when he met her gaze. “This is my half-brother Nico, and his wife, Veronica,” he spat. “My former fiancée.”
CHAPTER 20
Jesusmotherfuckingchrist. The stricken look on Millie’s face punched him in the gut. He’d taken a chance, entering them in a rosé competition in San Francisco, so close to home. But these kinds of small tastings were beneath his family. If they entered wine tasting competitions at all, they were the big ones.
The judges tasting this year were sommeliers, and Case Family Wineries were already well known to every som in the country, so there was no need to enter a competition like this. This one was meant for smaller, newer growers who wanted to attract the attention of influencers in the industry. Perfect for Moonbeam Acres.
“What in the hell are you doing here, Nico? I didn’t see your name on the list, or Austin’s or Dec’s.”
Nico flashed him an empty smile. “Oh, we’re all here. Thought it would be nice to come down and see our big brother. You know, the one who didn’t come home for Christmas–”
“I’ve missed Christmases before,” he growled.
Nico continued as if he hadn’t spoken. “The one who said he was done with the wine biz. Dad’s going to have a stroke when he finds out you’ve gone into direct competition with us.”
“Give me a break. If Case Family Wineries feels threatened by a small operation that only makes fifty cases, your empire’s about to fall.”
“No thanks to you.”
“Maybe it’s time you triplets stepped the fuck up then.”
